Weasleys' Wayward Wand
by Le Me
Summary: Naturally it was George, the thinker, who first realised that the young adult demographic wasn't catered for in Wheezes, and naturally it was Fred, the envelope pusher, who happened upon the risqué solution.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** unmine.

**A/N:** No slash, no pairings, all names and places are canon. AU post-war and Fred is still with us. I've read a lot of fics on the twins expanding to incorporate more adult products, but there was never much of a back story, i.e how did they come to that decision, generation of the products and mainly friend's and family's reaction to the Wizarding world's first adult store. So here we are; have at.

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><p><strong>Chapter 1 – We need more plates<strong>

There was no denying that 'Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes' had been a huge success for the twins. Ever since the duo got the nascent business up and running again after the war, not a day went by that didn't see the bright and zany shop filled with shoppers of all shapes, sizes and ages, each trying to find that perfect birthday present or christmas present, or simply something wacky and exciting for themselves to celebrate the fall of Voldemort. That was the beauty of Wheezes', it appealed to all, as there was always something inside which could amuse, amaze or allure despite the fact that it was predominantly a joke shop.

Fred and George had expanded their product range quite a bit since the shop's inception back in '96, now incorporating a whole host of new potions, sweets and pranks as well as their ever popular fireworks – the new range of which now exploded into anti-Voldemort designs and patterns, devised to mock the few remaining death eaters roaming the wizarding world. WWW was dynamic, it was cutting edge and most of all, it catered for everyone…

Or did it? This question had been bothering George all week, and he was once more mulling it over in his head as he sat on the soft settée in their flat later that evening with a ledger in his lap and a pile of paperwork on the cushion next to him. Fred was currently in the kitchen, which was essentially the other half of the sitting room, making homey little noises and humming to himself every now and again whilst he stirred a large pot of stew on the hob. They had agreed shortly after they moved into the flat that Fred would see to the cooking if George did his share of the paperwork; this was naturally fine by George whose culinary prowess only extended to sandwiches and porridge, and whose writing was vastly more legible than his twin's.

Fred had begun to scoop some of the thick, steaming beef stew into bowls with a large ladle and butter some bread. George was so deep in thought that he didn't realise for a good few seconds that a bowl was being waved in front of him until Fred nearly shoved it into his face.

"Wha- oh! Thanks mate," he said sheepishly, taking the offered bowl and moving the paperwork onto the coffee table so Fred could sit next to him.

"Away with the fairies there, Georgie?" grinned Fred, immediately dunking some bread into his stew and swearing slightly when he burned his tongue on the hot stock. "wha' 'er' 'ou 'hin'in' a'ou'?"

Living so long with his twin had made George fluent in Fred's stuffed-face language, so it wasn't hard for him to decipher him even when he had a gobful of bread.

"I was just thinking about the types of customers we get in the shop," said George, looking into the fire contemplatively.

Fred swallowed his bread and scoffed. "Oh I know right? The nerve of that bloke today, claiming he was the minister's nephew so 'where was his discount?' Honestly, some people…"

George gave a slight laugh and turned to his left. "Well yes, that too, but actually I was thinking more of our customer demographics, specifically the one we're lacking."

Fred looked at George curiously.

"Have you noticed that we don't really tend to get customers in Wheezes our age? Well, in their twenties?" he went on.

Fred raised an eyebrow and took another sip of stew. "…I don't know, I could swear Lee lives here sometimes. I've definitely seen him coming through our flat door into the shop smelling of my aftershave."

George rolled his eyes. "Lee could be the shop mascot he's here so often, but I'm not talking about our friends, I'm talking about the general public, people we don't know."

Fred stopped eating and looked at George. "Well, we do run a joke shop, hardly a young-adult playground, unless they're planning on getting something to prank their girlfriends or boyfriends, or slip love potions into their mate's drink at a party or something. We're just more relevant to kids, teens and old people I guess."

"True," said George, lying back against the cushions and stirring his broth, "but I think we have a lot of potential to branch out, especially after the defensive line was so successful with the ministry and the pygmy puffs were a big hit."

George sat up and turned on the sofa so he was completely facing Fred, putting down his bowl. "But it's not just that," he went on getting more and more gesticulative, "there's a serious lack of shops in Diagon Alley for people our age. I mean, there's a niche dying to be filled here, and I think we should be the ones to do it."

Fred put down his bowl also, and sat back, looking at George with a slight knowing expression. "Let's hear it then."

"What?"

"This grandiose scheme of yours, you've obviously got something on the burner otherwise you wouldn't be…flailing," Fred reasoned.

George wilted slightly and sat back against the cushions. "Actually I don't. The Inspiration Fairy has yet to bless me with a plan of action…"

"Any relation to The Courage Sprite?"

"Cousins by marriage, I believe."

The fire snapped.

"So, you have an idea…for an idea?"

"…Yes."

"Stellar work, mate."

A short while later, George stood up and took their empty things to the sink, a couple of graceful cleaning spells later only resulted in one broken dish.

"I think you're maybe approaching this in the wrong way," called Fred from his spot on the settée. "I mean your point about the demographics not the plate," he corrected before George could retort.

"Oh?"

"Well, it sounds like you've been thinking about this on the basis of bringing something particular to Diagon Alley, than looking, rather, at what it's missing."

George came back to the sitting room bringing with him two large pieces of shortbread, courtesy of their mother. He handed a bit to Fred, who practically inhaled it in one go, before sitting down once more.

"Yes…" George said, trailing off. "The main things in a young adult's life..."

Fred looked at him, a light smattering of crumbs decorating his cheeks, and extended his thumb. "Food and drink."

"The Leaky Cauldron, Florean's and multiple cafés, " replied George.

"And I refuse to open a tea room," said Fred, his face contorted into a rictus of disgust . He extended his forefinger, "Quidditch."

"Quality Quidditch Supplies has that quite covered."

Fred extended his middle finger, "Music."

"The forté of the WWN," recounted George lazily, leaning back into the cushions.

"Thank Merlin, as karaoke is neither of ours," said Fred. He extended a ring finger, "Partying like it's 1999."

"Pubs and clubs for that sort of thing."

"True, and Wheezes is a constant party in and of itself, anyway," Fred said, looking fondly about the room like a proud parent.

George looked up at the corner of the room in thought, didn't come up with anything and turned to Fred again. "What does that leave, then?"

Fred smirked and proceeded to waggle his pinkie and eyebrows.

"Well obviously, but we can't very well sell that, Freddie."

"Naturally," said Fred in a supercillious voice remeniscent of their orotund brother Percy, nose stuck up into the air and smoking an imaginary pipe. "Mother would not approve, after all."

George scoffed. "I'm just trying to figure out the logistics of how to even go about marketing that."

Fred looked at him mischievously for a moment before suddenly drawing a lungful of air. "WHAT'S THAT GEORGE!? YOU WANT TO START A SEX JUNCTURE?! WITH SEX INVOLVED, LOTS AND LOTS OF SEX?-"

"-WILL YOU shut up-"

"-I KNOW WE'RE A BIT AT A LOSS FOR IDEAS AT THE MOMENT BUT IS SEX THE RIGHT WAY TO GO ABOUT IT?! SEX, GEORGE?"

"-our neighbours are an elderly couple, Fred!-"

"YOU REALLY NEED TO TRY AND GET SEX OFF YOUR BRAIN GEOR-HHHWWWWNN"

The bellowing was thankfully quelled once George pushed his brother onto his back, grabbed a sofa cushion, and began smothering his face with it.

"Shut up you stupid bugger," he said, trying to hold in his laughter.

Fred began chanting, what George assumed was, 'SEX!' over and over again, although it sounded more like, "SNHNHNS! SHNHHNHS! SWNHNWS!"

George started doing some yelling of his own in order to drown out Fred's cushion mantra. "WELL IT LOOKS LIKE SINCE FRED IS SO BUSY YELLING HE WON'T BE ABLE TO HAVE ANY OF MUM'S RHUBARB CRUMBLE FOR DESSERT."

Five minutes after the subsequent silence had occurred, saw the twins sat on the settée once more each with a bowl of said crumble.

"You're going to be a good dad one day, Georgie," said Fred now attacking his bowl of pudding.

George smirked. "Thanks, bro. Don't think I can say the same for you, though."

The remainder of the evening at number 93 was rather uneventful, minus the argument over who spilled crumble on the ledger, and the addition of two new broken dishes.


	2. Chapter 2

George had attempted to revive the subject again at the beginning of the week, but everytime he would try, a hoard of shoppers would arrive, or they would have to respond to owl orders, or something would explode. So for the time being, he'd aquiesced defeat.

Friday morning saw George manning the till, flicking absentmindedly through a days old copy of '_Business Wizard'_ or the '_Biz Wiz'_ as it was more commonly known, with his head in such as a way as to line up the window panes with his eyes to block the low sun. Meanwhile, Fred was busy tinkering away in the back room as he had been doing for the past few days. George hadn't asked what his brother was up to before he'd disappeared clandestinely one morning through the lab doors holding a bottle of turpentine, a handful of gossamer, an argand, and a broken alembic, thinking it best just to leave him to it.

His reverie was prodded slightly when the sound of tinkling metal colliding with wood signalled the arrival of a customer; he and Fred liked to switch the doorbell every once and a while to keep things interesting. Today, it was keys hitting the ground, particularly amusing when the person fell for it on the way in and way out. A few days ago, visitors were bestowed with the honour of hearing the haunting melody of the mating call of the humpback whale. A couple of days before that it was it was a high-pitched clangourous knell. This morning's doorbell, however, brought with it an old dear - and a few grandchildren, George assumed. He closed his magazine and tried to make himself look amicable, but as he watched the children tear about the floor and the old woman shuffle rigidly after them, the same nagging query squatted in his mind. What could they do to get tweens in here?

It wasn't long before noon rolled over bringing with it the typical lunch time lull and Verity, Wheezes' worker girl, who had arrived early for her half-day shift. George decided to take the opportunity to nip out for some bits and pieces for the shop, and to get some much needed air.

"Oi Fred!" hollered George at the back-room door.

A muffled grunt was his only answer.

"I'm heading into the alley, do you want anything?"

A voice replied, "a Nimbus Elite, a pair of those new Weltings' burgundy dragonhide Derbys, and a date with that PlayWizard model Nimh Ó Reilly."

"Fine taste. I've taught you well, little bro," George said, wiping away imaginary tears, aware of the fact that no-one could see.

The voice behind the door gained more clarity at this point, as if Fred had turned to face the door directly. "Naff off. I think you'll find that F comes before G, Porgie."

"And I comes before U, what's your point."

"Touché."

George smirked and turned his back on the lab door. "So that's some potion ingredients for me, and an icecream with sprinkles for you."

"You know me far too well for my liking…Can I have a flake as well?"

"Ofcourse you can, Pumpkin."

Fred's only retort was a loud scoff.

George grinned and started making his way towards the door where Verity was stacking boxes trying to hold in her laughter.

He glanced back at the lab. "And don't you roll your eyes at me."

A cacophony of scandalized bustling sounds from within was confirmation enough for George.

The muffled voice spoke up again. "FAR too well."

Still smirking, he opened the shop door, looked down to locate his dropped keys, berated himself internally for his stupidity, then passed over the threshold onto the cobbled lane.

The sun was just beginning its descent when George emerged from the Seplasiary. He'd already picked up all they needed for the shop from Slug and Jigger's; the ointment he'd just purchased was something for him. He found that in cold weather the winter breezes were harsh on his exposed ear canal, making him feel that icy tendrils were slithering into his head. Fred had suggested he simply wore his hat with the ear flaps when he went out but George refused, preferring not to spend 6 months of the year as a sprocker spaniel. The ear drops kept everything at body temperature thankfully helping to keep out Jack Frost and his mates.

"FR-GEORGE!" bellowed a voice behind him.

George snapped around and immediately spotted a crazed Lee Jordan skidaddling towards him, whipping oblivious passers-by about the head and shoulders with his dreads during the transit. He landed in front of the redhead panting and gasping.

"Bloody hell, Lee, where's the fire?" said George, eyebrows raised.

"In my heart, George!" said Lee, beaming up at him. "And it's blazing like never before!" he added with a slightly glazed expression.

"What on Earth on you waffling on ab-"

"It's Angelina!" Lee interrupted. "She's going on a date with me tomorrow night!"

George gawked at him for a second, then remembered who he was talking to and his gaze became accusitory at once. "Out of curiosity, what did you blackmail her with? For future reference, you know."

"I didn't blackmail her!"

"So, you dared her."

"No!"

"…Paid her?"

"I didn't do anything of the sort! I asked and she agreed," said Lee with a resolute expression, before it became glazy again, and he repeated himself almost drunkedly, "she agreed."

George rolled his eyes before gathering his things and ushering the drooling youth towards Florean Fortescue's. Fred hated to be left out of interrogations, after all.

When they arrived back at Wheezes it was still quiet, minus the babbling drivel about Angelina that was falling from Lee's gob, which only stopped when he looked down to pick up his keys.

"Ice-crrream!" yelled George, shrilly, handing one to Verity. A clatter was heard from the back room, and a ruffled Fred emerged from its contents, bounding across the room like he hadn't eaten in days.

"Sweet frozen nectar of the god- Jordan?" said Fred amidst his devourment of the cone. "What brings you to our demesne of decadence?"

"It would appear that Ms Johnson has completely lost her mind and agreed to go on a date with young Lee, here," said George placing his shopping on the desk. "Ever since I found him he's been twitching and speaking in tongues."

"You're pulling my wand," gaped Fred. "The woman's avoided you like the plague since you've met, why would she give up now?" He suddenly blanched and looked at George, eyes wide. "You don't think she's had a tragedy in the family do you?"

George looked slightly worried. "Blimey, didn't think of that."

"Enough guys! I didn't pay her, she wasn't dared or blackmailed, and no she hasn't suffered a mental breakdown. I approached her after her quidditch game against the Wimbourne Wasps, which they lost unfortunately, and I asked her out. She said 'Yes, alright I'll bloody go on a date with you…'"

Fred gave him a knowing look and made a 'go on' gesture.

"…If it'll make you stop bothering me."

Fred smirked and raised an eyebrow.

"Which is still a yes, Weasley!"

"Alright, alright, don't get your wand in a knot," said George behind the counter, packaging a set of Whiz-Bangs for a middle aged man. "I just find it curious. It's like Medusa throwing in the towel and getting corrective eye-surgery."

Lee shot him a look.

"So, where are you taking Miss Termagent anyway?" asked Fred.

"We're going to dinner at a new muggle restaurant in Piccadilly," said Lee. "Quite a posh joint to be honest."

"Well, I hope you're not planning on going in those," said Fred in an over-the-top camp voice, eyeing the commentator's blue jeans and t-shirt.

Lee began to laugh, then his smile faded and he looked at Fred like a startled deer.

"I mean, a nice shirt would do, mate," said George. "You're bound to own something smart-casual, right?"

"…Can I borrow one of yours?" asked Lee, meekly.

"Fred and I own clothes of a very limited colour palette. Turns out normal colours like black and white look terrible next to this," said George, pointing to his hair. "I don't think a shirt two sizes too big in canary yellow or magenta would really suit you, mate."

Lee scrunched up his face, and dropped his forehead onto the desk. "Uh I hate shopping, and I don't have a clue about fashion or anything of the sort. You guys need to help me, this is my only chance to impress her!"

Fred rolled his eyes, and was moments away from a retort, when George quickly rushed to his side.

"If we leave him to his own devices he'll show up there looking he just rolled out of a modern art gallery, screw it all up, be back here straight after the dinner, drink his way through our stash and proceed to whinge about her all night," whispered George in one breath.

Fred let out a dramatic sigh. "Oh fine. I can't believe I'm saying this but tomorrow we'll all go to a muggle place and get you some decent clothes. Then we'll bring you back here and doll you up to the best of our ability. The woman will be so overcome by your beauty that she'll rue the years she spent rejecting you and you'll both live happily ever after. How's that."

"Yes! Thanks guys, you're the best," said Lee, springing off the desk.

"_You two'll_ go to a muggle place," said George, leaning casually against the desk.

Fred turned to look at him. "I'm sorry?"

"We have to have someone here looking after the experimental potion remember? And as I'm the one who brewed it…"

"You jammy c-"

"-ock!" said Hermione in a panicked tone, as she came into the shop followed by Ron and Harry. "I got it from that antique shop down the lane. It's very similar to your mum's, Ronald, except a lot smaller, and I got them to add all of our names on the hands rather than just my immediate family. I tried to get them to be more specific than 'Mortal peril' too-"

"-Especially when it's been known to point that way when Ronnie strays near a kitchen appliance."

"Oh, very funny," said Ron to a leering Fred.

"What's the matter with you lot," said George, taking in their uneasy faces and jittery manner. "And what's all this talk about getting a clock like mum's? Trying to keep tabs on your future husband 'Mione?"

"You two didn't read today's Prophet?" said Harry, while Hermione took on an affronted look in the background.

Fred straightened up and narrowed his eyes. "What's going on."

The trio looked at one another before turning their hardened gazes upon Fred, George and Lee once more.

Ron threw a copy of the _Daily Prophet _on the counter, where the day's headline immediately caught the twin's eyes.

Harry straightened up, jaw tight. "She's getting released in two weeks."

Even after two years, the sickly sweet smile in the image turned the stomach of the elder three immediately. The twins looked down at the figure in the image, and the figure appeared to look straight back at them; a figure, which even in black and white, could be easily discerned as wearing a collection of garments in varying shades of pink.


End file.
